by Tara Lain
“Good to see you, Rand.”
“Likewise, sir.”
A small horde of females descended on Mrs. Orwell, including her harried-looking daughter.
“Mama.”
“Grandma.”
After introductions all around, the daughter and two oldest girls took the carry-ons from Rand. Mrs. Orwell turned and reached up to touch his cheek. He had to stoop a little to let her do it. “I hope you have a wonderful vacation, dear. Who knows, maybe this is the time when you’ll find the right one. I hope you do—no matter who that might be.”
“Not likely, ma’am, but thank you for the thought.”
“Well, okay, but remember, the best way to find the one is to not assume who that person is in advance.”
“Have a wonderful holiday with your family.”
She chuckled. “I know when I’m being brushed off. Take care, Rand. Somebody out there will be lucky to get you.”
As she walked off with her grandchildren hanging on her, his mother said, “She’s a quirky one.”
“Yep.”
“She seems pretty free with her advice.”
He smiled. “Yep.”
A half hour later, he desperately wished he had Mrs. Orwell and her advice back as the little six-seater plane to Hana bounced all over the sky. He sucked his breath, bit his tongue, and stared out the window so no one could see his skin, which had to be snow white—since he felt cold as ice. Thank God they only dropped and shimmied for half an hour before landing on the tiny Hana airstrip. He managed not to throw up as he deplaned, but he swallowed a lot. “I hear the road to Hana is a sight to see. Maybe we should drive back?”
His mother nodded. “What a good idea. We’ll have them pack us a picnic and take it slow and easy.” Slow and easy he didn’t mind. Low and easy sounded better.
His dad patted Rand’s back. “Let’s have our vacation before we end it.”
“Yes, sir.”
At the tiny terminal building, they found their bags and spied a burly Hawaiian man holding a sign that said McIntyre. His shirt was emblazoned with a Hana Maui logo. Rand’s mom waved, and the man came over. “Hi, are you the McIntyres?”
“Yes.”
He pulled three leis made of purple orchids from a bag and put one around each of their necks. “Aloha. Welcome to Hana and to Hana Maui. I’m George.”
Rand smiled.
“You were expecting Kamehameha, maybe?” George chuckled.
“Exactly.”
“No worries, brah. You’re looking at Noelani Uluwehi, at your service.”
“More like it.”
“Call me George. Now let me take you to your home away from home.”
George tossed their bags into the trunk of a town car like they were full of feathers, then helped Rand’s parents in. Rand slid in the front passenger seat and stared out the window as George drove north, the rolling Pacific shining past green land and small buildings on the left. Rand’s mental picture of flowers, waterfalls, and lush foliage didn’t come true. Hana spread out in rolling pastures, like home, but a lot greener with way more trees. “They don’t call it Hana ranch for nothing.”
“Right, brah. Fourteen thousand acres of land and a herd of Herefords from Molokai got started here in 1946. Been through a lot of owners since then, man. If you look hard, you can still see some evidence of the ranch, but mostly it’s a hotel.”
It only took about fifteen minutes before George pulled into the drive of a low-slung, rock-studded building directly beside the road on the ocean side. A discreet sign said Travaasa Hana Maui Hotel.
Rand loitered with his dad as he tipped George and negotiated the transfer of their bags to a bellman. Across the street and a little back from the road, a rustic wooden building sat quiet and clearly closed, although the beer signs in the windows promised a good time.
George followed Rand’s line of sight. “It’s a cowboy club, brah. You’ll fit right in. Only open weekends, though. Tomorrow night.”
“Hawaiian cowboys?”
“Yeah, the originals. Paniolo.”
“No shit?”
“We got our cowboying straight from the Mexican vaqueros. You mainlanders got it later.” George smiled at the club. “Only a few real paniolos left, but anyone’s welcome at the club. It’s a nice break from the more upscale restaurant at Hana Maui.”
Rand glanced back at the silent building. Who knew? As his father dealt with the bellman, he followed his mother into the open-air lobby. A handsome Asian man dressed in black trousers and a Hawaiian shirt came from behind the desk. “Mrs. McIntyre, how good to see you and Mr. McIntyre again.”
“And you, Mr. Yamata. This is my son, Rand.”
He shook hands, his mother completed the check-in, and his father arrived in time to hop on the bell cart that took them out the back door. Okay, man, this is Hawaii. Elegant cottages built of wood and clustered in a dense copse of trees, bushes and flowers faced a wide expanse of green lawn, all leading out to a precipice looking directly down to the ocean. A pool decorated the lawn.
“No beach?” He cocked his head at his mom.
She shook her head. “The beach is a short walk or an even shorter drive down the road. It’s black sand. You’ll love it.”
The bellman gave him a glance over his shoulder. “You want to go to the beach from here, you gotta take off your clothes.” He laughed, and Rand’s mom joined in.
She grinned. “There’s a nude beach—a pretty little red sand cove—just down the hill from here. You don’t have to take off your clothes—but you better be okay with everyone else doing it. As for me, I like a good fish sandwich at the hotel beach with my bathing suit on.”
The bellman pulled the cart up to a lovely cottage perched on the edge of the precipice with a stunning view. “Mr. and Mrs. McIntyre, since this cottage has the best view, Mr. Yamata wanted you to have it. It’s not large enough for three, however. Mr. Rand would have that cottage.” He pointed to a smaller building slightly behind the larger cottage. “If you’d prefer to all be together, there’s a two-bedroom family cottage available on the other side.”
Rand held his breath. His mom looked at his father. “What do you think, dear?”
His dad shrugged. “Rand’s a big boy. I expect he’d enjoy a little privacy. Plus, it’s tough to beat this view.”
His mother nodded. “So it’s done.”
Rand slowly exhaled as the bellman began unloading his parents’ bags from the cart. He walked over to the edge of the drop-off and stared at the restless ocean. A cowboy bar and a nude beach—Hana was definitely looking up.
Chapter Two
A few minutes later, he stood in the middle of his own cottage—a stunning wooden structure with an open-air porch, an outside shower, a huge bed made up with organic cotton sheets, and not a TV, radio, or computer in sight. In fact, as he’d warned Manolo, cell service sucked. It added up to either true relaxation or stir craziness, depending on your nature.
He unpacked, shoved his meager and highly inappropriate clothes into his drawers, stashed some lube in the bedside table for use in that really inviting shower, and sat on the bed. A tap on the door preceded his mother’s arrival. He might have scored his own room, but that didn’t assure privacy.
“Hey, dear, you decent?”
“Yep.”
She waggled a large plastic bag at him. “Here. I know you must not have anything with you that doesn’t involve decorated metal belt buckles and bolo ties. I got you a few things.”
“Mom, I do make money, you know. And bolo ties aren’t exactly required cowboy gear anymore.”
“Indulge me. Get dressed in something vacationy and come have drinks with me and daddy before dinner.”
“I was thinking that pool looked pretty good.”
“Delightful. Take a quick dip, then join us in the bar, okay?”
“I’ll be there.”
She bustled back to their cottage, and he checked out the collection of Hawaiian shirts and
lightweight slacks in silk and some other flowy material. Linen? Really? He was about to feel like an old Don Johnson TV show.
Once he’d pulled on his board shorts, he walked barefoot across the wide lawn to the pool looking toward the ocean. A really good swimmer stroked through the water, her powerful arms not making a splash. No way he’d give her a run for her money. He didn’t swim enough to be much good, but he could get by. He slid into the lukewarm water and pushed off from the side, soon falling into a rhythm. After about twenty laps, he stopped and wiped at his face.
“You’re raising your head too high.”
He looked up at the woman sitting on the edge of the pool. Blonde and pretty in a strong, capable sort of way. “I don’t get much swim time.”
She grinned and glanced at his body. “I can tell.”
“Oooh, you know how to hurt a guy.”
“No, dummy, you’re in great shape. I mean the brown face, neck, and forearms surrounded by a sea of pasty white. Not much like a swimmer.”
He glanced down. “Cowboy tan.”
“That explains those great legs.”
“Bowlegs, you mean?”
She laughed. “You’re determined to be insulted. Why is that?”
“My inner child doesn’t get enough recess.”
She laughed. “So what’s a cowboy doing at the Hana Maui?”
“Family holiday. You?”
“I live nearby. I teach water aerobics for the hotel spa, and they let me swim when the pool isn’t busy—which is lots.”
“You’re a great swimmer.”
“Thanks. Was close to the Olympics but had to go to work.”
“I’m Rand, by the way.”
“Julie. Julie Durst.”
“Maybe I’ll take one of your classes.” He smiled. “Learn how to keep my head down.”
“I can give you a lesson now if you want.”
Funny. Everything she said could be a come-on, but she didn’t have that vibe. She really wanted to teach him to swim better. He liked her.
“Sorry. I’ve got to go meet my parents for dinner. Another time, though.”
“Sure.”
He hopped out of the pool and turned toward his cottage, then—“By the way, do you know anything about the cowboy bar across the street?”
“Yeah, sure. It’s a great locals place. A lot of tourists go too. It’s fun. They’ve got dancing and good beer.”
“Sounds perfect.” The words popped out before he caught up with them. “Want to go?”
“What?”
“I mean, I’d love a guide. I want to go tomorrow night, but I don’t know anyone.”
“Sure. That’d be fun.”
“I’ll buy to thank you for being my tour guide.”
She grinned. “You bet you will. Where shall I meet you?”
“Lobby?”
“Uh, maybe not. How about I meet you outside the bar at nine? It doesn’t really get going until after then.”
“See you then.” He walked toward the cabin. Okay, McIntyre, you’ve done it again. How many girls and women have you dated because your mom would like them? How the hell do you expect anyone to know you when you live behind a smokescreen? Shit. Oh well, it’s done. Make the best of it.
As he strode through the foliage toward his door, some horses trotted past on a trail in the trees behind his cabin. A couple obvious newbs held on to their saddle horns for dear life, bouncing their way to sore butts. They seriously needed riding lessons. Behind them, a man wearing a Stetson low on his forehead rode his mount like they’d been born together as a centaur. His light hands barely held the reins, while his seat controlled even the slightest movement of the horse. Rand’s belly clutched at the sheer mastery—and the beauty. Two more tourists followed and another cowboy after them. Rand let out a long exhale. Sometimes you just needed to take a ride.
After his first full day as a vacationer—mostly eating salmon sandwiches on a black sand beach and splashing around in the water between naps—Rand appreciated the last bite of chicken pesto and mashed potatoes before leaning back in his chair and inhaling the sweet night air of Hana. He lived a pretty simple life by his own choice and didn’t miss luxury, but man, this food rocked.
“Good?” His mother smiled as she pushed away her own nearly empty plate.
“Really good. It’s a race to see whether I get fat before I get spoiled.”
A quick crease popped between her eyebrows. “You could use a little fattening as well as a lot of spoiling.”
His dad patted his stomach. “I hear there’s some entertainment tonight.”
Rand glanced at his watch. “Uh, actually, I have an engagement.”
His mother’s eyebrows shot up. “Engagement? I think you’ve been with us every minute since we got here yesterday. How could you plan anything?” She laughed but looked really interested.
He shrugged. “I met this girl by the pool when I took that quick swim last night. She’s going to show me the cowboy bar across the street.”
“A nice girl?” His mother’s hands clapped together on their own. “Why didn’t you bring her to dinner?” Oh yeah, wedding marches were playing in the background, and flocks of toddlers ran about her feet. Poor Mom.
“Actually, I think she doesn’t want to be seen with a guest. She teaches swim classes here, I guess.”
“A swimmer. How lovely. Well, go get pretty for your date.” She made a shooing motion.
“It’s not a date, but she is nice.”
“Maybe we can meet her next time.”
He pushed back his chair. “If there’s a next time.”
As he walked back to his cottage, he shook his head. He hated lying to his parents. Sometimes he didn’t think of it as lying—just not telling everything. After all, he’d never come out to anybody—except the one-night stands he’d backed against a few walls in his time—but he didn’t usually tell them his name. He owned a ranch. Yeah, it mostly catered to tourists in California gold country, but he was still a cowboy, and cowboys didn’t often come out. Brokeback syndrome or something. Spend your whole life pretending to be somebody you’re not—and die.
Lighten up, McIntyre.
The watch on his wrist said eight forty-five. Get changed. No way he’d arrive at a cowboy bar in linen pants, even if it was some Hawaiian idea of a cowboy. He tossed the new slacks on the bed and hauled on his Levis. Felt natural. After he snapped the last button on his shirt, he sat, pulled on his boots, then clapped his Stetson on his head and hurried to the door. Didn’t want to keep his “date” waiting.
Outside, the moon ruled. Even living on a ranch near Chico, he didn’t see skies so dark. Every star had its own brilliant halo. He walked out the front gates of the hotel and trotted across the street—more from haste than any big traffic jam. Hana didn’t amount to much more than some small businesses and shops strung along the two-lane highway. Apparently, if you didn’t arrive by plane, you had to spend hours on that same road trekking through jungle. Man, you sure couldn’t tell that from where he stood at the edge of upward-inclining pastureland.
Unlike yesterday, the gravel lot in front of the bar hosted at least a dozen or so cars, and the faint hum of music filtered out the front door. An older couple dressed in tourist chic headed for that door.
“Hey, cowboy.” Julie pushed away from the back of some kind of Toyota and walked toward him. She wore a sundress and sandals.
“Hi. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” He looked down at his outfit. “Too much?”
“Nah, you’ll fit in with the locals.” She fell in beside him as they walked to the entrance. “Some of them, anyway.”
When he opened the door, it all hit him at once—the sound of Asleep at the Wheel singing “Big Balls in Cowtown,” the smell of beer, not-necessarily-expensive aftershave, a little sweat, and some kind of meat cooking that likely wasn’t good for you. He took a big breath. “My people.”
Julie laughed as they navigated the crowd waiting by the door
and approached a harried-looking hostess. Julie leaned in. “Hey, girl. It’s only nine. Don’t give up yet.”
The brunette hostess bared her teeth. “Evil woman, evil.” They hugged each other. “So I assume you need a table for you and this hellaciously handsome hunk.” She stuck out her hand. “Hi. I’m Tiffany. Yes, my parents did hate me. And yes, I was born in the eighties. And if Julie doesn’t at least give you a blow job tonight, call me.” She winked and led them to a booth being vacated by two couples—and eyed by every anxious patron near the door. Tiffany hurried away with a flip of her hair.
“So should I go get us some beers?” He looked toward the big, curving bar on the other side of a small dance floor. Nobody was two-stepping currently, so he could watch the bartender pouring drinks.
“No, I imagine Tiffany took care of that.”
Sure enough, a waiter in jeans and a tight black T-shirt with a Hawaiian shirt layered over it walked their way with a huge load of drinks on a tray. He deposited two bottles on their table as he passed by, gave Julie a kiss on the cheek, which required the coordination of a circus juggler, and kept walking.
He sipped his beer. “So can you live here on swimming lessons?”
“No. And you can’t live here on art either. That’s what I do. I paint. But I stitch together miscellaneous jobs to keep my body and soul together between sales and commissions.”
“You want to be here that much?”
“Who wouldn’t? Hell, the Beatles traveled the long and winding road to get here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Their song, ‘The Long and Winding Road.’ That’s the road right out there.” She pointed toward the Hana Highway.
He shook his head. “I don’t get it.”
“I guess their guru was living in Hana at the time or something, and they drove the road to see him.”
“No shit?”
“Yes. We’re very famous.” She laughed.
Some shaggy cowboy-looking guys—if you didn’t count their ink-black hair and Polynesian faces—started setting up instruments on a small makeshift bandstand in the corner.
“Live music?”